


Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: This is how they work





	Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

> 2014 fic from a minseok exchange, but i cbb to find out which one
> 
> xiusoo have improbably short refractory periods

Minseok’s eyes, in the morning, over coffee, are Kyungsoo’s favorite kind. Their usual sharpness is dulled, muted into something sleepy. They’re tilted slightly downward around the edges, but soft, affectionate, and familiar. His hair is dark, disheveled, falling into his eyes as he smiles in greeting over the rim of his coffee mug. Kyungsoo smiles in answer, as he blinks the dust of sleepiness from his own eyes.

And Minseok’s eyes, in the morning, over coffee, beckon him over.

Minseok’s mug—World’s Best Husband—clinks against the granite countertop. The sharp corners of it dig into Kyungsoo’s spine, and there are hands—warm, soft, gentle hands—sliding across the starched buttons of Kyungsoo’s dress shirt, dancing over the silk material of his favorite blue tie. Playful, languid, as if they have all the time in the world. (It’s Monday morning; they don’t).

But in these moments of quiet vulnerability, morning stillness, sacred domesticity, Minseok presses a kiss, lazy and soft and lingering to the corner of his mouth. He shifts, lips grazing over the tip of Kyungsoo’s nose. His thumb strokes along Kyungsoo’s jawline, urging his head downward to kiss his forehead. Whisper-soft, delicate, fleeting. Just perfect, just _exactly_.

”Good morning,” Minseok murmurs against his skin, voice still slightly rough around the edges, husky with interrupted sleep.

And there’s a familiar, welcome thud in Kyungsoo’s chest, a jolt more potent than caffeine. And there’s warmth suffusing all the way, from the points of contact—the soft press of warm lips to goose bumped skin, the soft pads of fingers cradling his neck—to his toes.

He can feel the burn long afterward, a searing caress, tattooed on his skin.

Long after Minseok’s disengaged with a soft sigh of his name and a groaned glance at his watch. Long after Kyungsoo has had his own coffee—black, two sugars, practically scalding his tongue. Long after they’ve prepared each other’s lunches. And long after Minseok’s kissed him _properly_ , for good luck and as a ’have a good day,’ against the doorjamb, fingers gripping tight at Kyungsoo’s shoulders, lips soft, tongue insistent. And long after Kyungsoo’s righted his clothes, said his goodbye, boarded the subway to his job.

Long, _long_ after—when he’s unlocked the door to his bakery, when he’s started the ovens, when he’s texted Minseok a picture of his tuna melt sandwich, promised to enjoy it since it was made for him special with _love_ —there’s still the phantom imprint, the phantom heat of Minseok’s affection, a persistent reminder itching underneath his bangs and underneath his clothes.

It’s thrilling and heady and perfect. Even after all this time.

 

Minseok texts him just as he’s scanning his subway card. Kyungsoo pauses to grin at his phone, gets jostled by rushing commuters, curses as he drops his briefcase.

Mondays are their lazy days. Their buffer period. Getting back into the rut of the _real world_. Decompressing from the stress of deadlines and invoices and excel spreadsheets, they eat takeout, watch a movie, maybe make out for a while afterward on their couch until they have to go to sleep. Maybe maybe maybe have sex, too. Fall asleep curled up into each other, heedless of the messiness of it. Desperate for more skin on skin.

And Minseok is asking what movie to download. What combo meal Kyungsoo wants from KFC.

 _also i love you_ , Minseok sends as Kyungsoo leans against a concrete pillar. It’s advertising BB creme, and Kyungsoo’s back slides against the woman’s nose as he bites back a smile, responds.

 

And the food is waiting for him when he gets there, as he kicks off his shoes. In crinkled paper bags that his husband holds up with a lazy, tired smile. It’s been six years, but there’s that thud in Kyungsoo’s chest again. A kickstart to his pulse. From the weight of Minseok’s eyes—his after work eyes, Kyungsoo’s second favorite, strained around the edges but happy, beautiful just for, _because_ of him—and from the weight of Minseok’s love.

And the tension bleeds out of Kyungsoo’s shoulders as Minseok grins, waves the bags with a flourish. His smile is tired, but almost dreamy. Satisfied. Genuine. Like Kyungsoo’s presence makes his day. (It does, Kyungsoo knows, registers with a warm shiver).

Minseok motions to the couch, and Kyungsoo grins in return. It’s Minseok’s _favorite_ , the one that he tells him pulls his cheeks up, makes his mouth look like a heart that’s just _begging_ to be kissed. Minseok tugs on his arm, Kyungsoo falling forward with a huffed laugh, so he can do just that. Chaste, hard, Minseok’s fingers biting into his clothed shoulders, Minseok’s breath hot against Kyungsoo’s lips as he disengages with a soft pop.

Kyungsoo unties his tie, loosening the first three buttons of his shirt, before falling beside him on the couch. He unwraps his meal, and Minseok reaches out to squeeze his hand hard once, asking how his day was, before pressing play on his computer. Kyungsoo snuggles against him, and Minseok’s hand wraps around his shoulder. Kyungsoo can feel Minseok’s heartbeat against his side as Minseok’s fingers—idle, but wandering—slide against the exposed skin of his chest.

And Minseok, Minseok is too much sometimes. Too heavy. Too overwhelming. His touches too searing. His love too daunting. But he retreats when necessary. Fingers halting when Kyungsoo inhales sharply, squeezing his hand around Minseok’s wrist. Minseok hums against the crown of his head in acknowledgement, exhaling warmly as Kyungsoo sighs, drags Minseok’s hand down to press against the jut of his hipbone. Minseok’s lips curl into a smile as his thumbnail drags across the skin peeking out beneath fabric. Kyungsoo’s lips part with a soft gasp.

And this is, this is how they work.

They’re too similar in a lot of ways. Too quiet. Too contemplative. Too hesitant. Too hard at times, too. But just soft enough, just soft enough for one another.

 

And Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo’s a different person when he’s with Minseok.

“Nicer,” his roommate, best friend Chanyeol had cut in when they’d first started, a second date in, as Kyungsoo had frowned at himself in their spotty mirror, mussing up his hair, tugging at his shirt. “You smile a lot with Minseok hyung. Act cute. Act happy. Act less—” And here Chanyeol had made a gesture with his hand, wiggling his fingers, making a soft clicking sound as he’d dragged it in a wide sweep down Kyungsoo’s tense body— “Less _you_. Or—or a _different_ you, but I _like_ this you.”

He’d laughed when Kyungsoo’s frown had deepened, clapped his hand hard against Kyungsoo’s shoulder, and then reached out to smooth his brows with a soft coo.

“Wear blue,” Chanyeol had advised, pressing his chin into Kyungsoo’s shoulder, taking advantage of his shocked compliance to wrap his arms loosely around Kyungsoo’s waist. “It makes you _pop_.” (Chanyeol had been dating fashion major Sehun, fancied himself quite versed in these type of things). “And don’t sleep with him, yet. Leave him _wanting_ ,” he’d murmured against his cheek. “Don’t be the kind of boy that gives it up to easily.” And that coupled with the tightening of Chanyeol’s hands, the way he’d turned as if to press a kiss to Kyungsoo’s cheek, had been too much. So Kyungsoo had titled his head sharply back, crashing it against Chanyeol’s chin in punishment. Elbowing him in the gut for good measure, too.

Chanyeol had yelped, screamed about how he took it all back. Kyungsoo was just as awful a best friend when lovestruck over Minseok hyung, and he should wear green, wash himself out. Sleep with him right away, too. Fucking _ruin_ it—he honestly doesn’t give a _fuck_. Kyungsoo had feinted left, and Chanyeol had curled in on himself with a loud obnoxious sob.

 

But Kyungsoo’s a different person with Minseok hyung, Chanyeol had relented later that night, crawling in beside him on his squeaky dorm-issue mattress, voice soft, fingers softer as he’d curled into Kyungsoo’s side and coaxed the details out of him. How Minseok had said his name, how _big_ his heart had felt in his chest, and what Minseok’s fingers had felt like cradling his face—like Kyungsoo was made of fucking china, like he’d shatter if he held him too hard, too close—as he’d kissed him slow and deep and breathless outside their door.

And Kyungsoo’s a different person with Minseok, he’d repeated, acting as an intermediary when Minseok had first met his parents, drawling it out all sweet and persuasive. Kyungsoo is bright, happy, _soft_. He doesn’t take himself as seriously. He doesn’t do that _thing_ where he tenses up, you know. Where he hates the world. Kyungsoo is—ah— _beautiful_ with Minseok hyung.

And Kyungsoo’s a different person, he’d toasted a year ago at their wedding, teary-eyed and pitchy, voice too loud, gestures even more so. But Kyungsoo is—Kyungsoo is exactly where he—with _who_ he needs to—was _meant_ to be. Even though he was stealing his best friend. Taking him for _good_. Even—even then—they’re really so _perfect_. And Sehun had snuck behind him, squeezed his hand extra hard as Chanyeol’s voice, shoulders shook.

And Kyungsoo had had no way of knowing any of that, the night after that second date with Chanyeol’s arm heavy around his waist and his breath heavy against Kyungsoo’s clothed shoulder as Kyungsoo’s skin burned in all the places Minseok had touched him. He only knew that he was 20, smitten, affected, and that he liked who he was with Minseok, too.

And it felt premature _at the time at least_ , but Kyungsoo liked the way they fit together. The way the recognized one another’s edges, worked around one another idiosyncrasies.

There was something good there. Something beyond held hands and hushed laughter in the back of movie theatres, something beyond chaste forehead kisses and shared coffee over midterm notes. Something _compatible_ , something potentially _permanent_. They had been friends, study buddies before, but together, together—

 

(He _had_ known, though. He had _known_. That through give and take, they could be—could have—)

 

“The perfect love,” Lu Han—Minseok’s best friend, Kyungsoo’s study buddy—had breathed dreamily, all soft-voiced and soft-eyed, midvocab review at the cafe near campus. As Kyungsoo grinned at his phone, biting hard on his lower lip at Minseok’s text. Kyungsoo had tensed, chewed on the end of his yellow highlighter, tapped it against his Attic Greek book with a grimace. Only five dates in and already so _serious_.

“You’re good together,” Lu Han had laughed, reaching forward to squeeze Kyungsoo’s wrist (Lu Han was too touchy, he’d come to realize over the weeks. Too touchy with _everybody_ , it had nothing to do with Minseok). “He’ll be mad at me for telling you that, but I really—ah—I really like you together. He doesn’t usually...” he’d murmured something in Mandarin, titled his head as he’d pursed his lips “ _yield_. Isn’t usually so _cute_. _Soft_. But with you he’s so very—different, but good. Good different.”

Kyungsoo had blinked.

And Lu Han had flushed, laughed in that awful, ugly, genuine way. “You’re the best boyfriend he’s ever had, he told me the other day. The very best boy he’s ever dated. He thinks—ah—he thinks you’re his...maybe. He’s yours, right?” Lu Han’s voice light until that point had turned serious, almost solemn. “The best you’ve ever had? The one you want to…” he’d let the sentence die in his throat, hang there heavy and incomplete. And Kyungsoo had swallowed, mouth clenching into another grimace as he’d tapped his highlighter even harder against noun declensions.

“I— _yes_ —”

“You two are so—ah—We’ll tell this story at your wedding,” Lu Han had said with a smile. Wide, charming, winning. And Kyungsoo had groaned.

(They had. Minseok had laughed. Kyungsoo had flushed bright red. _After their fifth date_ , Lu Han had supplied with one of his more calculated, pretty trilling laughs, waving his glass in the air as he'd thrown his head back, _I was playing chicken with him, trying to get a feel for them as a couple, but he knew after their fifth date. Isn’t that—isn’t that amazing_ )

 

One scrape of Minseok’s thumbnail, one brush of warm, purposeful fingers have Kyungsoo gasping back into the present, arching up as his body suffuses with familiar heat, familiar need. His head lolls back, onto Minseok’s shoulder with a soft moan as the elder continues his caresses.

“You smell like frosting,” Minseok hums, nosing at his neck. Kyungsoo nods lazily, moans softly as the elder licks along his Adam’s apple, scrapes his teeth against his throat. “Want to spread it all over you—lick it off nice and slow.”

And he has—they have—in celebration after Kyungsoo opened his bakery, Minseok humming, laughing as Kyungsoo squirmed, moaned.

Kyungsoo groans at the memory, and Minseok smiles against his temple as his fingers dance dangerously close to where Kyungsoo is starting to stir, starting to harden.

“Or maybe just taste _you_ ,” he continues, and Kyungsoo flushes. Minseok’s fingers skim, teasing and light. Kyungsoo strains, cranes his neck to meet Minseok’s dark eyes. “Can I?” he asks, and Kyungsoo lurches forward to kiss him.

But the angle is awkward, uncomfortable, and Minseok seems to sense it, shifts to coax Kyungsoo onto his back. Minseok looms over him with his thighs bracketing Kyungsoo’s as he melts forward into a warm, deep kiss.

 

And Minseok is, for the most part, a muted, understated type of person. A muted, understated type of lover. Quiet, easy, comfortable, amicable. Minseok always measures his words. His movements. His actions. And his every small gesture becomes all the more more potent, more intense, more real.

Kyungsoo always loses himself in these moments. And maybe, Kyungsoo thinks, maybe that’s why one look, one touch, one kiss can leave Kyungsoo trembling. Caught up in the maelstrom of Minseok’s love. Maybe, maybe that’s why Minseok feels _more_. Touches heavier. Kisses more insistent. Eyes sharper, hotter, more burning. Love, love more devastating.

Maybe that’s why nobody can or ever could hope to affect him. Why Kyungsoo had _known_.

Minseok ruins him in the most painfully exquisite, potent way. Minseok makes him want to surrender. Makes him want to _melt_. Be pliant and soft and small.

And Minseok’s kisses are sticky sweat against the column of his neck as he unbuttons Kyungsoo’s shirt, lips ruddy as they drag over his skin. Kyungsoo sinks back into the cushions as Minseok scrapes his teeth against one dark nipple. Kyungsoo whimpers.

 

 _When we touch_ , Kyungsoo had told Minseok, after the first time, reckless, sentimental, panting in the afterglow, heart brimming, words spilling forth in the soft twilight, _when we touch, it’s like...this is what I’m meant to be doing. It’s like it’s cosmic but familiar and perfect._ And Minseok had smiled against his hairline, kisses slow and lazy along Kyungsoo’s cheek, as he’d wrapped Kyungsoo tighter in his arms.

And Kyungsoo had felt overwhelmed, from so much skin on skin, so much _Minseok_ , but cradled and loved, too. So he’d melted into the embrace, humming contently as Minseok breathed his name.

And it’s still, it’s still cosmic and familiar and perfect when Minseok touches him now. Drags his soft, slick, impossibly pink lips down the dips of Kyungsoo’s navel to lick teasingly lower and lower, mouthing at the trembling skin right above the waistband of his pants.

He pauses briefly, falling back on his haunches to tug Kyungsoo's pants midthigh. Sit up as Kyungsoo kicks them hastily off.

And there’s a dull thrum of heat and then a sudden sharp spike of arousal, Kyungsoo slumping as Minseok ghosts his lips featherlight against the straining red fabric of his boxers.

Kyungsoo's thumb brushes against the softness of Minseok's cheek, and Minseok arches into it as he peels off Kyungsoo's boxers, tossing them beside their coffee table as he leans forward to mouth at Kyungsoo's cock.

 

Kyungsoo’s got the perfect mouth for this, Minseok always praises, voice husky with pleasure. But Minseok, Minseok’s got the perfect eyes. Dancing, dark, and captivating. And Kyungsoo can’t dream of looking anywhere else as his back bows and his eyes flutter from the potent rush of pleasure. So he bucks forward instead, and Minseok’s hair whispers against his navel as he glides forward, taking more and more as Kyungsoo moans, begs.

Minseok flicks his wrist to grip him as he mouths at the head of Kyungsoo’s cock, lips a ruddy pink—so impossibly pink, even against the flushed pink of Kyungsoo’s own cock—as he drags them along the sensitive crown. They catch on the underside as he hums against him. Curls his tongue out to lap slow and filthy as he blinks up at him through his damp eyelashes.

“Minseok,” Kyungsoo gasps. “Minseok, I’m gonna come.”

Minseok smiles—with his eyes—as he glides back down, tonguing insistently along a vein, moaning. He bobs up and down once, twice.

And Kyungsoo manages one breathless “I can’t” before he’s spilling into Minseok’s perfect mouth.

Minseok pulls away, and some manages to seep out of his mouth. He licks his lips, eyes heavy-lidded and dark as he groans at the flavor. “Do you know how amazing you taste, Kyungsoo? Do you fucking know?”

“Shut up,” Kyungsoo gasps, and Minseok laughs, the sound, the rush of air hot and tortuous against the sensitive skin of his cock.

“Or maybe,” Minseok says, falling back, fingers tightening at Kyungsoo’s hips. “Maybe it’s just how amazing it feels when you come in my mouth. Maybe it’s knowing that _I’m_ responsible.” Minseok’s other hand skitters up Kyungsoo’s thighs, skims at his balls. “That you—ah—let me make you come.”

Kyungsoo is still dazed as Minseok’s thumb brushes over his entrance. And it’s just the promise of Minseok’s eyes, focused on him. It’s the quiet, heavy “You’re my everything. Never fucking change” that he feels in the searing, succulent kiss Minseok presses to his knee that has Kyungsoo whimpering, overwhelmed. There’s a sudden pulse of love, a warmth spreading out from his chest towards his limbs.

“Do you want?” Minseok asks, nosing along his inner thigh. “Do you want to have sex?”

Kyungsoo nods languidly, movements sluggish with orgasm, and Minseok laughs, falls back to rifle in their dresser for a half empty bottle of lube, a sleeve of condoms.

Minseok’s fingers are warm but persistent as they urge their way inside. One by one.

Hand on his navel, Minseok holds Kyungsoo steady as he fucks him open with his fingers. Kyungsoo glides one hand down to thread it with his, the other pinching at his own nipples, and Minseok squeezes his fingers even tighter. There is warmth in his touch, and Kyungsoo shudders anew, the gravity of it a bruising heaviness as Minseok’s fingers continue to slick him open.

“Fuck,” Kyungsoo breathes, as the third eases its way inside, scrapes just briefly against his prostate. “ _Fuck_.”

Minseok’s smile is sharp as he repeats the motion over and over again. Until Kyungsoo’s nails are digging red crescents into the back of Minseok’s hand, until Kyungsoo is sobbing with pleasure, his control shattering with every curl of Minseok’s fingers, every drag along the grooved warmth of his walls. Kyungsoo's shudders, his pleasure are full-bodied and hot hot.

 

Lu Han had said that Minseok was different. Differing, yielding, soft, but he’s relentless now. Harsh. Demanding. Devastating with the deliberate swivel of his hips, the bruising grip of his hands, the heat of his breath, his mouth, his teeth at Kyungsoo’s neck.  
And Kyungsoo will feel this brand for days, weeks, years.

Minseok shifts inside of him, hot and heaving.

And the stretch is a pleasant burn, has Kyungsoo moaning wantonly, throwing his arms up to wrap around Minseok’s shoulders. And Minseok is on his skin and in his heart and and and pressing inside of him, dragging out the pleasure with every delicious roll of his cock. And Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo is right where he fucking belongs.

This is how they work. This comes naturally.

And there’s an undercurrent of acceptance, love, _need_ —Kyungsoo fucking _needs_ Minseok closer, faster, harder—as Minseok holds him, fucks him.

Minseok sets a rapid pace. Movements fluid, smooth, but _hard_ , deep, fast.

Minseok slides his hands down Kyungsoo’s sides, gripping Kyungsoo’s legs and dragging them up toward his shoulders. Kyungsoo thrashes from pleasure as Minseok thrusts hard, thrusts perfect.

The couch cushions chafe along his back, catching on the sweaty skin, and his head jerks sharply, knocking hard against the edge. But Kyungsoo can focus on little else but the sharp darkness of Minseok’s eyes, the forceful snap of his hips. The pleasure, the scorching pleasure of it, as he bucks up towards Minseok’s every plunge.

The pleasure drips down his spine, congeals like honey in his veins as he moans, bucks towards more. And Minseok pauses to lick at his jawline, urge him to touch himself. To come again. To let Minseok know he came because of him.

Kyungsoo’s rhythm is sloppy, but fast, as he strokes himself, tries to match the perfect roll of Minseok’s hips.

“I’m gonna,” Kyungsoo moans, grits out.

“So _do_ —do,” Minseok urges, smirking against his throat, licking as he nudges at Kyungsoo’s prostate, making Kyungsoo wail, buck with pleasure. “Let me— _fuck_ , Kyungsoo—let me see you come. Let me know it’s because of _me_ , Kyungsoo.”

“It _is_. It’s you. It’s you.”

Minseok makes Kyungsoo come apart, but Minseok—Minseok always makes sure to put him back together. And Kyungsoo knows—knows that he holds the same power.

Kyungsoo’s body seizes, his vision floods with white. And Minseok drags it out as he continues to fuck into him, rhythm sloppy, breath shaky as Kyungsoo clenches unintentionally and then purposefully.

Minseok scrapes his teeth against Kyungsoo’s collarbone as he goes and goes. And Minseok makes the softest, most beautiful sound as he lurches, cock pulsing inside of him.

Minseok is panting as he softens inside of Kyungsoo. And he’s leaning back, squelching obscenely as he extricates himself delicately, ties the condom before tossing it carelessly aside. Too dazed, too blissed out to care about how gross that is.

Minseok’s lips are skimming the column of his neck, as he pants, praises, puffs out hazy “I love you’s” and “You’re so perfect’s.” And Kyungsoo’s body is thrumming as he drags him back into a hard, sloppy kiss, lips clumsy and eager and wet. Minseok looms over him still, on shaky arms as he slows it down, kisses him deep and needy.

Minseok disengages after a while with a soft sigh.

“Let’s—let’s...you can—” Minseok tugs him forward, upward, drapes flushed sweaty thighs over his own as he falls back, flips their positions. “Let’s— _again_.”

Kyungsoo groans, trembles at that. Already stirring from the exquisite press of Minseok inside of him, he hardens anew. _Aches_ for it.

Minseok’s hair is damp, framing his flushed face in sweaty, plastered tendrils of black, as his head tips back, hangs over the edge of the coach.

“Fuck me,” he urges, legs falling open. “Come on. Again.”

“ _Fuck_.”

“We can— _you_ can—again.”

Kyungsoo scrambles for the lube once more, and Minseok laughs as he splays his limbs obscenely.

He starts first, and Kyungsoo watches as his fingers tease at his own rim, the tips of them whispering over quivering flesh. He drags it out, spreads his legs as his finger eases it way slowly inside. Kyungsoo groans as Minseok’s body clenches around the lone finger.

“Let me,” Kyungsoo urges. “Just let me.”

Their noses bump, and Kyungsoo’s eyes cross as he watches Minseok’s own glaze with pleasure. He pushes Minseok’s hand away, replaces it with his own, curling two fingers inside with no preamble.

His fingers are longer, thicker, able to angle, stretch more deliberately.

And Minseok presses back on them, grinding down smoothly as he whimpers. Kyungsoo teases another inside, and Minseok bows as Kyungsoo scrapes his prostate on the upward thrust. And Minseok is urging Kyungsoo’s fingers faster, cock smacking against his own stomach as he writhes toward every drag, every thrust forward and upward.

“Get inside me already,” Minseok rasps, voice husky with pleasure, with lust. “Fucking fuck me.”

Kyungsoo fumbles with the condom, and Minseok takes over, fingers light and teasing as they slide latex down. “I love your cock,” he says. “Now—now put it _inside_ of me.”

Kyungsoo laughs weakly but presses inside with a steady rock forward. His breath leaves his lungs in a low, husky curse. Minseok’s lips puff around a soft moan, his hands tug hard at Kyungsoo’s hair.

Minseok’s body is fluttering and hot, desperate to accommodate his length, desperate for _more_. His hips flush with Minseok’s ass, cock squeezed in an exquisitely tight velvet grip, Kyungsoo groans at the delicious friction as Minseok moans his name.

And Kyungsoo pauses briefly to appreciate the lean expanse of warm, flushed skin, the play of light across the sharp contours of Minseok’s beautiful, fucked-out face.

Kyungsoo wants to make him fall apart, too. Make him fall apart further.

"Fuck," he breathes, eyebrows furrowing, eyelashes fluttering. “Kyungsoo,” he moans, dragging him forward. Kyungsoo mouths at Minseok’s collarbone as he rolls back and thrusts forward. Minseok pulls painfully hard on his black strands. And Minseok’s body clenches hard and desperate, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he pants all open mouthed and dirty. Whimpers Kyungsoo’s name over and over again.

Minseok undulates his hips on every downstroke, and Kyungsoo curses reverently as he rolls forward.

Kyungsoo tries to mark, devastate in turn. With hot drags of his lips, hard sucks at Minseok’s collarbone. With the forceful pace of his thrusts.

“Fuck me hard,” Minseok insists, breathes, hands skating across Kyungsoo’s shoulderblades, thighs wrapping around his waist in a vice-like grip. “ _Hard_.”

Before his words devolve into helpless moans of Kyungsoo’s name, broken praises, desperate demands for harder, more, faster, please, right there.

Kyungsoo falls to his knees, lifts Minseok’s hips so his body is half on the couch, half suspended in the air, and Minseok sobs out in pleasure at the new angle, hands scrambling for purchase, pinching at his own nipples, tugging at his own hair as Kyungsoo grinds against him hard and purposeful.

Minseok is completely wrecked, desperate as he skitters his hands down to fist himself tight and fast and hard. To match the pace of Kyungsoo’s cock inside of him.

“Come,” Kyungsoo urges, nosing at his ribs, licking at his sweaty trembling skin as he curls forward with every thrust. “Come _on_ , Minseok.”

 

Minseok is mindless in his pleasure. Consumed by it.

But even in the very clutches of orgasm, Minseok _knows_. Knows how to rock back, writhing to draw out Kyungsoo’s climax, have him cursing as he releases in between sloppy stuttering fucks forward.

Kyungsoo melts forward when he climaxes for the third time that night, chin knocking against Minseok’s collarbone as he trembles with the aftershocks of it.

“One more time,” Minseok breathes weakly, and Kyungsoo rolls to his side, groans, smacks weakly at Minseok’s arm. “You’re getting old,” he complains. “Losing your stamina.”

And Kyungsoo can feel the sheer strength in the muscles he curls into, as his hands skate up Minseok’s arm, feel no give. He remembers in their younger, more adventurous days, how Minseok would lift Kyungsoo’s thighs or hold him down as he fucked him into the wall, face down into the mattress, over precarious shaky surfaces.

But now, Minseok is tucking him into his side, dragging reverent fingertips over Kyungsoo’s throat. Kyungsoo pulls one toward his mouth, kissing slowly over the soft, inkstained skin.

In the morning, Kyungsoo thinks, he’ll wake up to a crink in his neck, body aching in that pleasant sated post-coital way. And they’ll scurry to clean up their leftover wrappers. Shower. Drink too much coffee. Rush toward the coldness of Tuesday morning.

But right now, now, in the dizzying thrum of afterglow, Minseok cradles Kyungsoo’s head in his warm, perfect hands, brushes their lips together. And Kyungsoo’s breath catches in his throat.


End file.
